


Soulmates

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Series: Body and Soul [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has his soul back, and the wall in his head itches. Set after the Appointment in Samarra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

He was falling with stomach lurching speed. A black pit was open beneath him that seemed endless. Rage reached out at him, dark, blinding, complete. Someone was screaming in his head. He shrank from it, and jerked awake.

Sam gasped and rose into a half sitting position before falling back on the cot. A fan turned slowly overhead. Bobby’s panic room. He looked slowly around while his breathing calmed. He was alone and the door was ajar.

He swung his feet to the floor as he sat up. He felt lightheaded and weak. He put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Why was he here? How long had … and the dream of falling was slipping away … but, no … Sam’s head snapped up. The pit. Jesus, he was falling into the pit, and now he was here.

He rose to his feet and headed to the door. What had Dean done?

He climbed the stairs as quickly has his weak knees would take him and rushed into Bobby’s study. There was Dean, and all the air left his lungs. He was here. He was okay, and his arms were around Sam. He smelled like Dean, felt like him, and God, he was holding Sam so tight. Everything was all right. Wasn’t it? Please, God, let it all be okay now.

***

But it wasn’t all okay. Was it? He had done things. Horrible things. He’d hurt people. Almost killed Bobby. And Dean? There was something not right. It wasn’t anything Dean said or did, but something was off.

Maybe it was the deal Dean made with Death. Dean said they were even, that he didn’t owe Death anything, but sometimes Dean twisted the truth. And Dean said he didn’t know how Sam got out of the pit. He admitted he’d tried to find a way to get Sam out despite the promise he’d made, but it wasn’t him. So if it wasn’t a deal gone bad …

But, no, it wasn’t that. It was something Sam had done when he was soulless. He had to remember. It wasn’t just the vampire thing. No, that was bad enough, but it wasn’t that. This was different. It wasn’t as though Dean was angry with him or disappointed or afraid even. It was something else. Something Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Dean watched him. Not just his expressions but his movements, his hands and body. But if he saw Sam noticing, he looked away.

The whole thing was making them both act weird. The more Sam noticed Dean watching him the more he watched Dean and analyzed his observations. Dean just got more shifty in response.

Like yesterday at lunch. They were passing through some little town in Oklahoma and stopped at the local bar and grill. They slid into a booth, bumping knees. Dean had that typical smirk on his face.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Nothing. Just, you know, like old times.”

Sam just looked quizzically at him.

“You know,” Dean said, “since you were 16, you’ve been bruising my knees when we sit across from each other.”

Sam felt a pleasant glow in his chest. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s good to have you back.”

“Good to be back.”

A dumpy waitress slumped up. “What can I get you boys?”

“Beer, whatever’s on tap but none of that light crap,” Dean said. “Bacon cheeseburger and fries. He’ll have a salad.”

“Shut up, Dean. I’ll have the fish sandwich and onion rings. And a beer.”

Dean raised his eyebrows pointedly. “You’re having what?”

Sam smiled and looked away. “Shut up, Dean.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” He looked away a moment. “Seriously, I’m thinking of throwing holy water on you.”

“It’s a bar and grill. Anything healthy is likely to be nasty if not dangerous.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“Dean.” Sam thought a moment. “I ordered it because it sounded good. Things … things are different. I just … I don’t want to do things just because I think I should. You know?” He was peeling the label off the ketchup bottle. Not looking at his brother. “You and I have had more than our share of second chances, but what have we done with them? For ourselves, I mean. I know it isn’t like we have time to think much about it. About our own lives …” He shrugged and realized that Dean’s fingertips were on his wrist. He looked up, and Dean pulled back. He looked away. There were spots of color high on his cheeks, swallowing the freckles scattered there.

Sam wanted to say something. He wanted to know what that was about. Dean didn’t touch. Sure, a hug when you come back from hell, but not casual affection. Maybe Sam should be the one throwing holy water.

And then, the food arrived and the moment was lost, but Sam turned it over in his mind the rest of the afternoon as he rode shotgun.

***

Sam folded himself into the passenger seat of the Impala being careful to not to hit his head on the doorframe as he got in. His knees were tight against the dash. Bench seats sucked, he thought. At least if he was driving he could ease the seat back a few inches.

Things had gone off the rails in the past few months -- a dragon on the Pacific coast, a mother fucking dragon. The world’s gone crazy. Now they were headed to New England and that is a long drive. He leaned his head back.

“Get some sleep, Sammy. I’ve got it.” Dean pushed a tape in the player. _… you’re made of my rib or, baby, you’re made of my sin, and I can’t tell where your lust ends and where your love begins …_

“VAST? Seriously, dude?” Sam said. His college friend Tom – Tom who wore eyeliner on Saturday nights – liked VAST. “How’d you even find that on cassette?”

Dean scowled and popped the tape out. “Wrong tape.” He tossed it into the backseat and put in Houses of the Holy.

Sam watched his brother for a moment, but Dean just stared at the road. Sam leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. He felt like he couldn’t get enough sleep these days. Every time he sat down his eyes felt heavy.

_Sam sank his teeth into the muscle of Dean’s shoulder. He smelled the blood before he even tasted it and heard himself growl._

_“Please,” Dean groaned. His hands scrambled across the wall in front of him._

_Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and shoved into him. Dean’s hole opened right up for him. Knew it would. He was so tight and hot. Dean pushed his ass back against Sam, and Sam couldn’t help it, he fucked Dean with such urgency he was lifting him off his feet. He had to have him, possess him. But it was never enough. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel. He was missing something essential. But he didn’t stop until he felt his own come running down his balls, and God, it felt good._

_“Sam?”_

_He leaned his forehead against the back of Dean’s neck, but didn’t let go._

“Sam?”

His eyes opened to the passing corn fields of Ohio. Dean’s hand was on his shoulder. He gave Sam another shake.

“You okay?” Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to give Sam a searching look.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.”

“You don’t usually have those during the day.”

Sam just nodded and took a drink from a bottle of Dasani.

“Did I have nightmares when …”

Dean frowned. “No, dude, he didn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, right, I forgot. I mean that’s so weird.”

“Dude, it was creepy. I had a hard time sleeping knowing he was just sitting there, you know, watching me or something.”

Sam rubbed his eyes.

“There’s aspirin in the glove compartment,” Dean said.

Sam dug through the maps and fast food napkins for the small generic bottle. He shook a couple out into his hand. He washed them down with more of the warm water and smiled. That was Dean. He didn’t have to ask if Sam had a headache. He knew just from a gesture.

Then the dream squirmed back into his head. He was glad Dean was watching the road because the hard on he’d woken up with hadn’t completely subsided. His stomach twisted at the thought of his brother shoved up against a wall … He pushed the thought away, but the images the sensations wouldn’t quite leave him. They didn’t want to fade like a dream.

“Sam?”

“What?”

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

“Sorry.”

“That must be one hell of a headache.”

“Yeah.”

***

Sam dug around in the backseat until he found the tape Dean had tossed there on the floor. Written on the label was just ‘mix tape,’ but it wasn’t Dean’s handwriting. It was, well, it was a lot like Sam’s own print.

He got in the front seat and turned the key to accessory. He pushed the tape into the cassette player with his eyes on the hotel room door. Dean was asleep, and Sam hoped he’d stay that way. He adjusted the volume.

_… I didn’t mean to fuck you, baby, I didn’t mean to fuck you, I didn’t mean to fuck you but you’re pretty when you’re mine …_

Click, whir.

_… If you knew how much I love you, you would run away, every time I treat you bad, it makes you want to stay …_

Click, whir.

_… du, du hast, du hast mich …_

Click, whir.

_… I know it’s not the right thing, and I know it’s not the good thing, but kinda I want to …_

Click, whir.

_… I’m not sure what I should do, when every thought I’m thinking of is you, all my excuses turn to lies, maybe God will cover up his eyes …_

Click.

Sam popped the tape out and stared at it in his hand. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Blindly he took the keys from the ignition.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. This was the other’s tape. It had to be, had to be. This is what he listened to. This was his mindset. And the dreams, they were just dreams. They had to be. Because Sam had wanted Dean since he first learned that a dick was for more than pissing, but … no … no no no, God, no … He’d gone to Stanford to put distance between them because he couldn’t live so close to something he couldn’t have. Please, God, he couldn’t have destroyed everything when he wasn’t even himself.

Sam flinched when there was a sharp knock on the window next to his head. He slipped the tape into his jacket pocket and looked up.

Dean was leaning down and peering in the window. He backed up as Sam pushed the car door open.

“Dude, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I was going to go get something to eat, but this headache …”

“It’s one o’clock, Sam. There’s nothing open.” Dean was wearing only jeans and the t-shirt he went to bed in. He was barefoot on the cold, wet pavement.

“I was just going to go to the mini-mart. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s go in.”

Sam followed his brother back into the room and shucked off his jacket. He sat down and unlaced his boots.

“Sam.” Dean stopped in the middle of the room and waited until Sam was looking at him. “Is there something … are you, I mean, are you really okay? Is there something going on?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really. I just can’t seem to get rid of this headache.” He kicked his boots off. “I probably just need some sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said, but Sam heard the doubt in his voice.

***

_Sam slammed Dean against the wall and pushed his thigh between Dean’s legs. He was already hard, and he could make Dean hard too. He crushed their mouths together, teeth bruising his lips, and Dean moaned into his mouth. Sam tongue fucked him._

_Sam’s hands were all over Dean’s bare skin, but Dean’s arms hung limp at his sides. He was a a life-sized doll. Green glass eyes, painted red bow of mouth. Movable, usable. Sam pinched, twisted a nipple and the doll came to life. Gasped, eyes wide._

_They were naked, and Dean’s hands were bound to the headboard. The muscles in his arms bunched and flexed as he strained against the rope. His body was hot and slick with sweat. Sam’s cock was sliding into him over and over, and Dean was shaking. He cried out with every thrust, body arching off the bed._

Sam came awake with a start. He was sitting up in bed. Dean’s hand was on his shoulder.

“Sammy, you okay?”

Sam pulled away from his brother’s touch.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You sure, man?”

“I … yeah. Go back to sleep.” He rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom. He pulled the door shut and leaned over the sink. His breath came in gasps and then sobs. It was a dream. A nightmare. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be a memory. He couldn’t have done that to Dean. He couldn’t have … God, please, please … Sam looked into the mirror. Red eyes, wet cheeks. But he did. He had. It was like sense memory. His body remembered every curve of muscle, places Sam had never touched on his brother. The curve of his ass. The hot, tight depth gripping Sam’s cock.

But if he knew that, if his body knew it, the hard length of Dean’s cock, the smell there where Sam’s nose nestled as he licked over Dean’s puckered hole, if he knew that then he’d raped his brother. Sam felt his stomach clench.

“Sam?” Dean called out. In the mirror, Sam saw the door start to open behind him.

“No,” he said. “Go back to bed. I’m fine.” But he could see Dean standing behind him now. Hair tousled from sleep and that look of concern on his face. Sam looked away in shame. Jesus, how could Dean feel anything but disgust, loathing?

“Sammy?” He reached out and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam flinched away. Dean grabbed his shoulder and turned him around this time. He wouldn’t let go. “Sam, what the fuck is wrong? Is it the wall? Talk to me.”

Sam shook his head and tried to pull away. He wouldn’t look Dean in the face. He couldn’t. He had to get out of there. He … God, he’d done the most unimaginable thing. He knew that he’d done some horrible things. Hurt so many people. Killed people. But the idea that he could force himself on Dean … He felt sick. He wanted to die.

“Sammy, please,” Dean begged.

Sam looked up this time and saw such hurt, such concern in Dean’s face. He looked like he was about to cry.

“How … how can you? Jesus, Dean, we’ve hurt each other before, but …” Sam shook his head and pushed his way past Dean. He was already pulling his jeans on when Dean grabbed his arm.

“God damn it, Sam, you aren’t going to clam up on me. Tell me what the fuck this about?”

“Seriously? How can you stand to be near me, huh? How can you look at me that way after what I did to you?” Sam heard his voice break. “God, Dean, how can you not hate me?” he concluded quietly.

Sam watched realization slowly come over Dean who reached out again.

“It wasn’t like that, Sam. I don’t know what you remember, but it wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t like that? You were tied up.”

Dean flushed, and Sam could see the struggle of emotions play across his brother’s face.

“Jesus, Sam, I … it’s complicated. I …” He rubbed a hand across his face. “It’s not what you think.”

“Really? It’s not what I think? That I tied you up and forced you …”

“No.”

“No?”

“It wasn’t … I never said ‘no’, Sam.”

“What? Why?”

Dean looked away. “I’m not … God, Sam, he said you had feelings for me. You wanted me. He wanted me. And I missed you so much. I’d wanted you so long. I never would have … but he … Yeah, he pushed me toward it. He forced it up to a point, but then I asked for it.”

Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was sitting on the corner of the bed looking at his hands in his lap.

“I wanted you,” Sam said. “That’s what I told you?”

Dean nodded.

“Jesus.” Sam sat down on the other bed. “And you … you …”

“I missed you so much. He wasn’t you, but … I …” Dean choked back a sob.

“Dean, I need to know. You wanted me? Before all this? You …”

“I know, Sammy, I’m sick …”

Sam went down on his knees in front of his brother.

“No, no, no, you aren’t. It’s okay.” He ran a hand over Dean’s cheek wiping away tears, and finally those big, green eyes met his. Sam smiled weakly. “God, Dean, we’re so damaged, man, but it’s okay. Just tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

Dean shook his head. “No, no, it wasn’t you.”

“Dean.” Sam took his brother’s face in his hands. “Did I hurt you?”

Dean shrugged. “I like it rough.”

“Dean, damn it.”

“Sammy, it wasn’t you. I keep saying it, and you don’t listen.”

“No, it …”

“No, Sam, no. I was there, and you have got to believe me. That was not you.” Dean stood and paced across the room. “I think a part of him wanted to be, but he wasn’t.” Dean turned and found that Sam was right behind him, and that was a little too much like his brother’s soulless counterpart.

“Did we … was it always like that?”

Dean looked down and nodded. Sam reached out tentatively and started to speak.

“Sam, if you apologize one more time for something you didn’t do, I’m going to deck you.”

Sam met his brother’s angry, green gaze and smiled weakly.

“Okay, okay.”

“But I … I need to know, was he lying to me?” Dean’s expression had gone from angry to something Sam couldn’t put a name to because it kept changing – fear, hope, love, need, but through them all was a plea _please, Sam, please, don’t hate me, don’t walk away …_

Sam stepped forward and pulled Dean into his arms. “No.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot in front of Dean’s ear. “He wasn’t.” Sam’s hand slid up into the soft brush of hair at the nape of his brother’s neck, felt the warm length of their bodies pressing together. It all felt so familiar, so good, but something made him want to bite Dean’s lips and shove him over the table … Sam pushed his brother away. He felt nothing but rage, rage at the other one, the one who had Dean first, the one who’d made it all ugly and violent. Sam put his hands over his face and turned away.

“Hey, what is it?”

“God, Dean, I can’t.”

“Sam …”

“What he did …”

“Sam, turn around. Look at me.” Dean gripped Sam’s wrists. “Listen to me. It was not you.”

“It’s not that. I, I have these bits and pieces of memories, and when I touch you, they … they come back, and it’s like it was me.”

“Does it turn you on?”

“What? No.” Sam pulled his hands from Dean’s grasp and pushed him away, but Dean advanced on him.

“No? Because when you wake up from those nightmares, you have a hard on.”

Sam went very still. Shook his head, but it was true. The dreams always made him hard. Just thinking about them did. Sam felt trapped between guilt, self-loathing, disgust and need, lust, love.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean said quietly. “I told you I like it rough.

“I can’t. I can’t do that.” His head was down, but he was looking up at Dean through a curtain of hair. “I just can’t.”

“Sammy.” Dean reached out for him. “I’m not asking you too. I just don’t want you to beat yourself up for what he did. We can do this however you want.” Dean put his hands up, palms outward. “Or not at all. We don’t have to.”

Sam wanted so badly to reach out to Dean because he’d always wanted him. Despite all the things that made Dean annoying – from the constant one-up-man-ship to the way he gargled in the morning – Dean had always been the most beautiful person Sam had ever seen – not just physically, because God knows Dean was hot, but he was also brave and loyal and protective and self-sacrificing and everything, everything that had gotten Sam through life. And, God, Sam wanted it – all of it, all of Dean. And Dean wanted him.

“I can’t,” Sam said and turned away. “I want to, but what he did … it’s fucking with my head.”

“You’re not angry with me for … for letting him …”

Sam turned back and met Dean’s eyes. “No, I don’t blame you.”

Dean just looked away and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has his soul and his memory and a broken brother he doesn't know how to fix. Set after the Season 6 finale.

The Impala was a wreck. It was sitting in the lot at Bobby’s with the roof smashed in and who knew what else. It was fixable, but it would take awhile. Sam wasn’t so sure about the rest of them.

Things had only gone from bad to worse since he got his soul back, and just when he thought they couldn’t get worse, they did. It was bad enough to remember so many of the horrible things he’d done, to get suckered by Samuel, to have to work for Crowley, but then to find out that Castiel was working with Crowley the whole time.

Sam was bewildered and hurt. Dean was devastated. The weird thing was that Sam had been the believer, the one who prayed, but when Dean was given proof, when Sam himself had betrayed Dean, when Castiel had told Dean he had worth, when he’d befriended Dean and stood by him, Dean had put his faith in Castiel. He’d believed that Castiel, an angel, would always be there for him, could always be counted on, and Cas had betrayed Dean’s trust. He’d lied to him, to all of them. He manipulated and used them.

Sam sat up on Bobby’s couch and rubbed his face. It was morning or somewhere near there judging by the light coming through the windows. He pulled himself to his feet. His head was pounding. He really shouldn’t drink with Dean and Bobby. They were professionals after all. It worried Sam. Dean had taken to drinking even more heavily and there were pills. They’d become a habit if not an addiction. He was pretty sure of it.

He wandered into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee and took a couple Excedrin from the bottle on the counter. He washed them down with water directly from the tap. While the smell of coffee brewing filled the kitchen, he went in search of his brother.

He found Dean splayed across the bed in an upstairs bedroom he usually slept in. The bed was still made and Dean was fully clothed – boots and all. He looked terrible. He was thin and unshaven. His eyes looked bruised. And Sam’s heart ached.

He reached down and pulled Dean’s boots off and then his socks. He could see the rise and fall of his brother’s chest or he might have thought him dead. Tears burned in Sam’s eyes. He unbuckled Dean’s belt and undid his jeans, which he manhandled off him. Still, Dean didn’t stir. By the time, Sam had him down to a t-shirt and boxers, there were tears running down Sam’s face. Dean shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t sleep through all that. He shouldn’t be so damaged by life, by betrayal and loss.

Sam kicked his own boots off, climbed onto the bed, and pulled his brother into his arms. He laid his cheek against Dean’s hair and cried. Everything Dean had done for him, for strangers, for the world, and all he got was pain. And it never stopped. Sure, Sam got it too, but he was, as Cas put it, an abomination. He’d been weak. He’d given in to the demon blood. He’d betrayed Dean. Sam deserved the pain. Dean didn’t. He never had. He did everything for Sam, and Sam let him down. He had to help him now. He had to find a way to save his brother.

Sure, there were the ugly things lurking in Sam’s head – the pit and the soulless one – but helping Dean was more important right now. He could push those things aside. He had to.

Dean shifted in his arms and looked up at him.

“Sammy? You okay?”

Jesus, really? Dean wants to know if he’s okay. Sam sobbed in a breath and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, you?”

“Course.” Dean pulled away unsteadily, and fuck, he’s still drunk, Sam thought.

“Yeah?  I, umm, I’m making coffee. Why don’t you take a shower.”

“Fer wha?”

Sam’s chest hurt so much he thought it might actually be physical. “The Impala. Gotta get her running again.”

At first Dean looked like he was going to say no, but then his face set in that beautiful stubborn way. “Yeah, right. I’ll go get a shower.”

“Great.” Sam got up and headed for the door. “I’ll go see if Bobby has anything for breakfast.”

“Yeah, something greasy, Sammy.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, okay.”

***

They banged away on the Impala for a couple of weeks. It was like occupational therapy for both of them. They loved the car. It was the closest thing they’d ever had to a home. Sam hadn’t realized the first time the car had been totaled, or even a long time after, how important it was to him. It was Dad’s car, and then Dean’s. The way Dean felt about the gas-guzzling, emissions belching behemoth was almost a joke, until Stull Cemetery. Sam remembered now. He remembered it all – his brother’s bones breaking under his fist, Dean’s promise, the army man in the ashtray, the Legos in the vent, carving their initials, and knowing he had to stop Lucifer. He had to protect Dean – that was all that mattered – and he had. For once he’d done right by Dean. The Impala had made that possible. Him and Dean and the Impala – all the miles, all the years – they were family. Now, they had to save her.

So they worked and sweated, and sometimes at the end of the day, when they’d made real progress, and they were sitting at the picnic table in the shade having a beer, Dean looked relaxed, almost happy.

In the evenings and late into the night, Bobby would do research, and Sam helped out. He even pushed Dean to help – anything to keep him from hitting the whiskey. The pills were a different matter. Sam took to taking one from the bottle every couple of days and flushing it down the toilet before Dean got up. But Dean wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t fucked up enough not to notice.

He confronted Sam with the almost empty bottle one day.

“Are you taking these?” he demanded.

“What? You think I’m on drugs?”

“Are you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why are you taking them? And don’t tell me you’re not. I’m not an idiot. I can count.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He really knew he couldn’t get away with this. That he was just putting off the confrontation. What he wanted was for Dean to confront him after all, wasn’t it, because if he’d confronted Dean all he would have gotten was denial.

“A better question is, why are you taking them?”

“I …” Dean just stared at him. “I have pain.”

“Really? Where? Arm? Leg? Where? Huh? What kind of pain, Dean?”

His brother’s face flushed and he dropped his head. “Sam …” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Dean, those won’t help with the kind of pain you have.”

“They do.”

“No, they don’t. Not really. They only mask it.” Sam’s chest ached and stepped forward. He reached for his brother, but Dean turned away.

“No, Sam.” He stomped out of the room.

But Sam wasn’t going to let it go this time, and he followed Dean back into the bedroom, grabbed his brother’s arm and spun him around.  
  
“Don’t walk away from me, Dean,” he demanded. “You can’t keep running from away from this.”  
  
Dean shoved back, just a little surprised that Sam didn’t budge much. “Run? You think I’m running? Are you calling me a coward, Sammy?”  
  
Sam put his hands up, palm out. “Hey, if the shoe fits, you know?”  
  
Dean took a swing, but Sam blocked it, grabbed Dean’s wrist and held on. “You’re going to stop this self-destructive horse shit, Dean.”  
  
Dean struck out with his elbow, trying to catch Sam in the ribs, but Sam spun him around and took him down on the bed. Dean was squirming on the bed, one hand pinned next to his head and the other in the middle of his back.  
  
“You think you can still take me, you jackass?” Sam growled. “You think you’re still big man? Huh? Well, fuck you, Dean. I’m not going to let you kill yourself with that shit.”  
  
“Get the fuck off me, Sam.”  
  
“No, no, not until you listen to me,” Sam said. Sam wanted to pound some sense into him. That’s all. He had to make Dean see that the booze and dope weren’t working. They were making everything worse. They were coming between them. But Dean’s scent warm and earthy, now a little sweaty, was enveloping him, and he really wanted to sink his teeth into his brother’s skin – taste it, swim in it – and he did, not too hard, not to break the skin, but he rolled the warm, salty flesh between his teeth, sucked blood to the surface until it was feverish against his lips.  
  
Dean’s hips were pushing up off the bed against Sam’s hard, leaking cock. Fuck, when did that happen? Sam went still.  
  
“No, please, Sam,” Dean pleaded. “Please.”  
  
Sam pulled himself to his knees.  
  
“Sam, no …”  
  
“Take your clothes off,” Sam said. This, if this was what Dean needed, then Sam, well, whatever else Sam thought, it’s what he would do. It wasn’t like his body wasn’t on board, obviously it was. He had a sense memory of it all. Even the things he didn’t remember clearly, and the things he did – sometimes harsh, cruel things – he knew Dean was right. His brother had never said no to that other Sam. Somehow Sam would have to come to terms with that too, but right now he would put it out of his mind because this was him and Dean for the first time.  
  
Sam got to his feet and shucked out of jeans in no time flat, and it was fortunate that he’d not been fully dressed yet, nor had Dean who’d just rolled out of bed. Dean already had a small bottle of lube in his hand, and Sam didn’t even want to know how that came to be so handy.  
  
“On your back,” Sam said.  
  
Dean flipped himself over obediently, and why couldn’t Dean be this accommodating about other stuff? Sam poured some lube on his fingers, reached for his brother and stopped. Dean was spread out in front of him, hands holding his legs up and back, vulnerable and open, baring himself like a bitch in front of the pack leader. His cock was hard and leaking onto his belly, hole quivering, eyes glassy and bright.  
  
“Fuck me,” Dean growled.  
  
Sam’s mouth was dry and he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Dean.”  
  
“Just do it, Sam, please.”  
  
Sam slicked his cock and pressed it to his brother’s heated flesh. Dean’s hands scrambled against Sam’s arms as the head opened him up.  
  
“Hold me down,” Dean grunted.  
  
“Dean, Jesus.”  
  
“Sam, damn it.” Their gazes locked and there was such a plea in Dean’s eyes. Sam grabbed his wrists, pushed them above his head, and held them down. Dean shoved his hips off the bed and impaled himself on Sam’s cock in one movement.  
  
“Fuck,” Sam gasped.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean panted. He lowered his hips, and Sam followed, thrusting deep inside him, claiming him, owning him. This, Sam thought, this right here, Dean belonged to him, not that other Sam, God damn it – not Lisa, no one else. He thrust harder and bit down on the muscle of Dean’s neck, sucked again until a bruise, dark and bloody, formed. Mine, Sam thought.  
  
“Mine,” he said.  
  
“Sam, Sam, Sam,” Dean kept moaning over and over. “Yeah, yeah.”  
  
They are one beast now moving in perfect rhythm, anticipating each movement – the result of a lifetime of silent communication, of looks, touches, experience. Their skin is sweat slick and salty, sliding together and apart and back like a well-oiled machine, pistoning, without brakes, rolling inexorably forward at breakneck speed.  
  
Bobby just one floor below, hell, the whole world, forgotten in their need and lust, and Dean’s heels dug into Sam’s ribs, and Sam’s hand cut of the blood flow to Dean’s hands. Sam knew when the crown his cock slid over that bright, sparking place in Dean because his brother began to shake and his moans became more urgent, and Sam can feel his balls start to draw up. That sound – fuck, all those pretty sounds – coming out Dean, tough, manly Dean, make Sam want to pound him even harder, make him whimper and beg.  
  
“What do ya want, Dean?”  
  
“Ugh, please.”  
  
“What? Say it?” Sam could barely form words himself, but he wanted to hear Dean say it.  
  
“Please, S, Sam, awww, come, make me come,” and the words trailed off into a moan as Sam pulled Dean’s hips up a little. Dean’s body went rigid and then arched up off the bed as thick jets of cum painted his belly and chest. His muscles clamped down around Sam’s dick, and good night, it’s all over as Sam’s balls try to turn inside out, and suddenly remembering Bobby, he bites his lip to keep from screaming because, holy fuck, that’s almost more pain than pleasure, but what the fuck, they’re so screwed up, they hardly know the difference.  
  
Sam collapsed on his brother, and Dean’s cum was slick between them. Sam released Dean’s wrists, and his fingers were stiff from the tension. Dean lay limply beneath him; his fingers coming up to tangle in the sweaty hair at the back of Sam’s neck. He nuzzled Sam’s neck.  
  
“You okay?” Sam asked.  
  
“Better than,” Dean said. “Way better than drugs.”  
  
Sam huffed out a chuckle.  
  
“You are,” Dean said. He was quiet for a moment. “You think Bobby heard anything?”  
  
Sam slid over onto his side, an arm and a leg still lying across his brother.  
  
“What like the bed moving across the room or you moaning like a …”  
  
“Hey, watch yourself. I can still kick your ass.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever,” Sam said and pressed a kiss to his brother’s neck.  
  
“Sam?” Dean said in his serious big brother voice.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam looked up, meeting Dean’s green gaze.  
  
“We’re going to be okay.”  
  
“Yeah.” A smile pulled at Sam’s lips. “Yeah, we are.” He put his head back down on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
“Okay, just so you know.”  
  
 ** _The End._**


End file.
